We The Broken People
by imagionista
Summary: Sirius' soul is less than whole and it's nice to find a kindred spirit. Wolfstar. Oneshot. Implied self-harm.


They had a strange understanding between them, Sirius thought as he exhaled smoke into the frosty air. Not as brotherly as him and James, nor as romantic as James and Lily. No, it was more or less somewhere dangerously in between.

He didn't know when it had become a habit: both of them sneaking out of their dorms to smoke and talk about nothing in particular under the watchful gaze of a thousand blinking stars. It had been Sirius' Special Place, a secluded corner of the grounds that couldn't be seen from the castle, where he'd go and get high on whatever drugs his dodgy dealer at the Hog's Head had slipped him. But then it became Remus and Sirius' Special Place sometime in fifth year- he didn't know when exactly- and perhaps he liked that a little more.

He studied Remus' long nose, his amber eyes, the way he bit his lip so hard it would bruise the next morning when he was drunk, under the shadowy stare of the languid tree they were perched on. In daylight, it would have been awkward, scandalous even, but the haze of alcohol and nicotine seemed to dull the stigma that was associated with being in love with your best friend. He had come to that conclusion on one of these escapades, but it hadn't changed anything, really. He'd liked the werewolf for a long time. It just took him until he was sixteen and a half years old to figure out that it was a lot more than a adolescent infatuation.

"You know, you never really told me what drove you to leave your parents' house," Remus said suddenly, leaning back against the springy trunk of the tree. One jean-clad leg hung off the branch; the other was tucked underneath him.

Sirius shrugged. "There isn't much to say," he replied, but both of them knew that he was hiding a lot more than he let on.

Both of them were silent for awhile, then Remus placed a cold hand on his shoulder. He flinched slightly, but didn't make an attempt to push it away. "Show me, then," the tawny-haired boy said, sounding a lot more determined than Sirius thought he was. _It was against the rules of The Special Place,_ he thought distractedly. _No talking about important stuff. _But then again, neither of them had really cared.

He straightened up, and turned so that they were directly facing each other. Then he shrugged up the sleeve of his sweatshirt until his entire forearm was bared against the cold.

Carved into his pale skin were the words 'blood traitor'. Remus should've been disgusted, repulsed, should've pushed his arm away with an expression of contempt- but instead he ran his fingers along the scar curiously, the softness of his touch almost dizzying to Sirius.

He could have sat there and let Remus caress his wounds forever, but then the other boy drew his hand back so quickly he almost gasped from the absence of warmth. But Moony still gazed at the extended limb thoughtfully, his gaze piercing but not uncomfortable as it washed over the red gashes against white skin, drinking in everything it saw.

"Those aren't just your parents' work," Remus observed after awhile.

Sirius looked down at the white lines that were even older than his mother's parting message crisscrossing his arm. The pale pink ones that were jagged because the only sharp thing James had in his room was a clumsy pocket knife. And red and puce slits that still stung slightly under water, adding a couple more hues to the spectrum already present.

"They aren't," he agreed idly.

If it was James, he'd have been turned in to Madam Pomfrey by morning. But somehow, he knew Remus wouldn't do that. It was a mutual understanding that they had, something that went along the lines of explicit trust and promises that would probably be meaningless by the time they'd worn out their hangovers, and maybe a few gentle kisses that both of them convinced themselves meant nothing, nothing at all. No, their relationship was something new. A bonding over scars because both of them had enough of their own, and they figured it wouldn't hurt much to share a bit of their burden.

Then Remus smiled slightly at him and rolled up his own sleeves. Sirius could see the darker slashes from the last full moon, and then scabs coating them that matched his own.

Though in the morning he'd remember his friend's secret and be flooded with a storm of guilt and protectiveness for Remus, now he was just... at peace. Knowing that there was someone else without an anchor, someone else to keep him from drowning.

"We, the broken people," Sirius said, slightly nostalgically, leaning his head on Remus' shoulder.

"Indeed, love," he replied, sighing in contentment and curling up closer to the other boy. Heart beating against heart, blood pounding over blood, flesh burning into flesh.

They were one.


End file.
